You Reap What You Sow
by katersgonnak8
Summary: Set during Catching Fire. On order of the Capitol, each district must select two tributes from the existing pool of victors for the 75th annual Hunger Games. Zeppelin Crenshaw does not know the Capitol very well, and neither does she truly know the Hunger Games. But because District 9 has only one victor (a male), she will come to learn that Panem is larger than a field of wheat.


For added awesomeness and dramatization, listen here to this hype song:  watch?v=zE23hMLbHg4

* * *

 _You'll play the game, though it's unfair_

 _They're all the same, who can compare?_

 ** _"First" ~ Cold War Kids_**

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 **Reaping Martyr**

I release a shaky breath, my chest lowering in a disjointed manner as I do so. My body stiffens, remaining unnaturally still despite the powerful sway of my fight-or-flight instincts.

 _Thump-thump-thump._

Xenia Pilling taps the metallic cover of the microphone in rapid succession, her intricately decorated fingernails adding to the sharpness of the noise. My heartrate nearly doubles.

She clears her throat in the most dignified and entitled manner that only a member of the Capitol can achieve. And in return, the crowd offers her the best enthusiasm they can muster at the dreary sight laid out before them. That is, we all stare back at the platform of the Culverhouse Justice Building expectantly while consciously withholding the grimace that is rising to the surface.

Xenia's ruby stained lips open to commence a speech identical to the one she gave the preceding year. "What a wonderful day for a reaping, District 9."

How her words could not be more grotesque. I can't tell which is worse, her Peacekeeper-inspired ensemble or her sickeningly cheerful tone. In actuality, her outfit is rather subdued this year. Relatively speaking. Her bleach blonde hair is slicked back into a voluminous ponytail, the tips spiraling into graceful curls. A white, fluffy coat reaches down to just above the knee, cinched at the waist by a platinum belt with an equally platinum bow placed at the center. Matching her fluffy coat are her white fur boots that rise to a few inches below the knee. Finishing off the vomit-inducing outfit is a black visor that covers the majority of her face, with the exception of her lips and chin. The sight of her moving lips brings me out of my analysis of Xenia's horrible fashion taste and back to the stomach-lurching truth that today is Reaping Day.

In my thoughts, I plead for the escape of a distraction. I spot my older sister in the crowd about ten yards behind me and off to the side a bit. Finding Sam lessens my anxiety somewhat, and I latch on to the sight of her dark brown hair held up by the ponytail she wears almost daily. I watch Sam subconsciously scrunch her nose as she waits for the ceremony to hurry up. Nose scrunching is an idiosyncrasy of hers, and only then does my breathing slow down.

I'm so focused on Sam that I successfully miss out on a few minutes of Xenia's speech. I sigh. For the most part, it's the same every year. Although this year the term "Quarter Quell" is thrown in a handful of times.

Propos play and Xenia is so far failing in her duties as a Capitol representative to excite the crowd about the valor of the games. However, those who live in the Capitol would never blame her for our stoic responses. Rather an onslaught of "Stupid hicks!" and "Baric. That's how they act and no wonder it is the way they live," would serve as the responses to excuse Xenia Pilling for her efforts.

Awkwardly, she moves on to introduce our existing pool of victors, which includes a now middle-aged man by the name of Daniel Bernhardt. She leaves out the fleeting detail that he is our _only_ victor. By order of the Capitol, District 9 must have both a male and female tribute. Thus one poor, unlucky soul must face the games for the first time with 23 other tributes that have won at some point or another.

Baited breath encompasses the crowd as her bony fingers reach into the bowl filled with all of the girls' names that are ages 12 through 18. Because of my family's need for food, even though we live, rather ironically, in the "Bread Basket" of Panem, my name is in there sixteen times: twelve for tesserae and four for my age.

"Lucille Sweatman." I nearly cry from relief. It's not me. Just like Sam assured it wouldn't be. I look back to her and send her a sad smile. Her pale, blue eyes echo my expression. Lucille makes her way to the platform. My eyes bore holes onto the scene before me.

I did not know her well, she was three years my senior, one year away from being too old for the reaping pool. Her dirty blonde hair was braided, reminding me of last year's victor, Katniss Everdeen. Suddenly, she stepped in front of Xenia, speaking into the microphone.

"I DIE FOR THE MOCKINGJAY!" She bellowed the battle cry. Then kissed three fingers and raised them up to the crowd.

Things start to move fast after that. It became chaotic, babies could be heard screaming, friends and families were calling for each other, all the while Peacekeepers were shoving through the crowd and tried in vain to maintain order. I moved throughout the crowd, trying to find my own sister.

"Sammy!"

"Zeppelin!"

I reach her. Finally. I don't think I've ever hugged someone so hard in my life.

"Let's get out of here," she says, I nod in violent agreement.

The jarring sound of a gunshot stops us dead in our tracks. We both turn back. The girl on stage is no longer standing, she's laying in a pool of her own leaking blood. Xenia converses with the Head Peacekeeper. She then walks quickly back to the microphone, while the Peacekeepers tote the body into the building, treating the corpse as if it were a ragdoll. She clears her throat yet again, straining her voice unnecessarily over the stunned silence of the crowd.

"Seeing as we had a minor mishap, I will now select another female tribute." Truly, no one can escape the hold of the Capitol.

Xenia wastes no time selecting another tribute. "Sammy Crenshaw." She repeats again. "Sammy Crenshaw, come here."

"No," I utter. My hold on my sister tightens, creasing her paisley patterned cotton dress.

"Please, Sammy, we do not have all day." Xenia vocalizes, her temper growing short.

Sam struggles out of my grip. "Zeppelin, please move," she says weakly.

"No. No! Wait! WAIT!" I dry sob. The next thing that comes out of my naïve mouth is perhaps the most stupid thing I'll ever say in my lifetime: "I volunteer! I'll take her place!"

"What was that?" Xenia says in astonishment. "A volunteer, oh wonderful! Just absolutely splendid! Come on then, love." I walk with a surprisingly large sense of drive. I cannot explain it, it's like my head is completely clear but I have no idea what lies before me. All I know is that within the next minute I will walk onto that stage, tell Xenia my name, and be declared District 9's female tribute.

"Your name dear?"

"Zeppelin Crenshaw."

"Very well, Zeppelin Crenshaw." She reaches into the male bowl and pulls out the lone piece of paper. "It appears that our volunteer tribute will be joined by Daniel Bernhardt. Let the 75th Hunger Games begin, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

Granted, the odds were certainly not in my favor. I had no experience in the Games. I am the youngest of the existing tributes. I am in no way prepared to defend myself in an arena or present myself to the people of the Capitol. On top of that, my would-be mentor is being thrown into the Games alongside me. The only thing I had was my anger for the Capitol, and the hope that the others shared that, too.


End file.
